


The Ones That Last

by WingsOfTime



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: I think probably, Multi, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5250023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, shit happens.<br/>Sometimes good shit, sometimes bad shit. </p><p>(Varric Greatly Approves)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ones That Last

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to organize all my random drabbles that would have never seen the light.

"It's Noéla," the Inquisitor remarked out of the blue one day, turning a page in her book. 

"What?" Dorian looked up from his own reading. She was perched on his chair--not in his chair, but somehow lounging across the arms and back of it--with half her legs dangling off the side. How she managed to retain her balance and seemingly ever-present poise in that position was beyond even him. He himself had resorted to reading standing up, since his usual space was now otherwise occupied, and he probably looked like an idiot in doing so. Never let it be said that he didn't make sacrifices for the Inquisition. 

"My name." She didn't look up from her reading. "Lavellan, which you are all mispronouncing, by the way, is simply what my clan is called."

"Oh." Dorian tried testing the name out on his tongue. "Noéla?" It sounded vaguely Orlesian. 

"Yes?" She looked up. 

"Interesting." He digested the new information. "Would... you rather I call you that, then?"

She shrugged, then closed her book. "I don't mind either way. I just thought I'd tell someone. Today it was all, 'Inquisitor this' and 'Inquisitor that'. A change of pace isn't too bad."

He nodded, thinking back on their day. They had gone to the Exalted Plains for an allegedly short trip to find a few Venatori Tomes the Inquisitor had needed. Nearly the entire day, however, had been spent killing the already dead, reclaiming ramparts, unlocking secret dungeons, and trying their best to curry a Dalish clan's favour instead, tasks ironically meant to have been put to the back burner as soon as they had been received. The Inquisitor did seem to have a tendency to simply stumble upon other people's problems (which she then tended to graciously solve before her own, even if completely by accident), he supposed. It had taken the entire day to get to the last tome. Dorian couldn't say, however, that it hadn't been an eventful time. And he had to admit, a fed-up Inquisitor yelling, "How do we get past this? For fuck's sake!" while kicking a rock was not on the list of things he had expected when he had joined the Inquisition. 

"What do you intend to do tomorrow, then?" He leaned against the library wall. "Now that you've nearly cleared out the Exalted Plains. Go back to the Hinterlands? Finish those tasks for the poor people who trust in your most excellent judgement to not forget about them, my dear Noéla?"

"Bull wants to kill that dragon we passed by the other day," she said. 

He dropped his book. It fell on his foot. 

"Fasta vass!" he swore, resisting the urge to hop on one leg like a loon. "For fuck's sake, woman--"

"No need to curse like that. That book didn't look that heavy." 

"--A high dragon? Are you mad?" She simply shrugged at his incredulous stare. "No, don't answer that. Of course you are; look at the company you keep."

"I am looking. You have a point, I'll admit; you do look a bit moronic right now. The fact that you are missing a sleeve doesn't help." 

"Alright," Dorian conceded to her raised eyebrow. "I deserved that. Although I'll have you know that this is considered the height of fashion in Tevinter, if not in this backwards country. But honestly, you're taking the Bull's advice on what to do with your life? Is that really wise for the Inquisitor?"

"You're only about the tenth person to tell me who to listen to, Dorian," she said with a sigh, finally shifting her legs over to sit in his chair like a normal person (was it a Dalish habit to perch on things, he wondered? He most assuredly hadn't met enough Dalish to tell. Although, using the Inquisitor as a prime example for all things Dalish was a bit parochial. It certainly didn't seem to stop other people, however). "I mean, Cassandra somehow warned me against you, Varric, and Cole all in one go. I appreciate that woman, Dorian, I really do, but I like to think I am a good enough judge of character to know if someone is going to stab me in the back or not."

"I'm a mage," Dorian said, because he was used to his mouth talking before his brain. "I would probably just prod you with my staff." Then he stopped talking, because being around the Iron Bull all day had made him wary when leaving openings like that. 

"Dread Wolf take you," the Inquisitor said calmly, apparently following his train of thought with absolutely no difficulty at all. To be fair, she had been walking around with the Bull right next to Dorian himself. "I've had enough of that talk to last a lifetime. You try explaining to Cole the... subtleties of your conversations. 'What does "ride the Bull" mean? He keeps looking at her and thinking it.' Fenedhis. I swear--are you laughing?"

He was, in fact, trying desperately to stifle his amusement. "I'm sorry," he gasped out, unable to keep a grin from spreading across his lips. "I just.... You... and Cole..." He gave up trying to cover it up and just laughed helplessly. 

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling despite her own words. "Dread Wolf take us both, then," she murmured. "I told him to ask Bull what kind of riding people did without a saddle. I'm sure he'll have fun explaining that."

Dorian was delighted. "You truly are full of surprises, Inquisitor," he said. 

"I try to be." She hopped off his chair. "Do you want to kill a dragon with me tomorrow?"

He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Take Bull, if he wants to so badly," he suggested. "And Solas. He might start lecturing you about keeping the relics of the old times sacred or something, but even I admit he is a good mage, even if he pulls off the 'homeless apostate' look a little too well. And before you say anything, you do need one. A good mage, that is, not a hobo. You can't keep up a protective barrier to save your life, and I know because I've put up my own over you to do just that far too many times to be healthy. Solas may fret himself into elven knots keeping track of your prancing about, but at least he's efficient at it."

"Alright, I'll take him instead of Sera," she relented, leaning back in his chair. "And Cassandra. She has a big spiky shield to protect me."

"Good." Dorian wondered idly if he was being made fun of, then decided it didn't matter if it meant Noéla didn't get a face full of dragon fire. 

"And you said Solas was the fretting one," she said, and then she added, "The creases on your forehead are going to become even more apparent if you keep worrying like that," and he decided that maybe a little bit of dragon fire wouldn't hurt her too much, now would it? 

"I don't have creases on my forehead," he muttered defensively, even as he deliberately smoothed out his features. She laughed, and then leapt to her feet in one fluid motion (and he would never admit that if he hadn't been backed up against a wall, he would have probably stumbled backwards at the sudden movement and landed on his arse), touching his arm as a farewell as she exited the library. 

"And I only worry because no one else has enough money to order new clothing for me," he said minutes too late, once she was out of sight. 

He sighed. "Kaffas. Well, let's hope Bull knows what he's doing."

"He likes redheads but not her," Cole said, appearing out of nowhere, and Dorian jumped nearly a foot in the air. "Bright and boisterous, fanning flames with no fire. But not interested, not them. So no need to worry." He peered hard at Dorian, as if expecting a response to indicate that his concerns, whatever they had been, were now allayed. 

Dorian, frowning, went over what he had just said, and then what Cole had just said, and his eyebrows shot up to his forehead. 

"Oh no," he said, shaking his head. "Please don't tell me you've decided to rack Iron Bull's puny brain to help you understand things better. The Inquisitor is going to kill us both."

"'Ask the Iron Bull.' I asked, but whispered without words," Cole said contentedly, apparently either unknowing or uncaring as to Dorian's plight. "He uses many words for the same thing. I went through them to know more, and then there were more."

Dorian ran a hand over his face. "Maker save us all," he declared, "We're all doomed. I quit the Inquisition. Leliana, I know you're listening. I'm leaving a note for the Inquisitor on that table over there. Please tell her I was too afraid to face her in person and ran away."

"Quit being so dramatic," Leliana called down from the upper level, where she had indeed been listening unrepentantly. "The Inquisitor excels at taking everything in stride. Besides," she added, her voice fading out as she walked away, "If she wanted Cole to have clean minds to pick, she would have thrown you out of Skyhold on day one."

Dorian opened his mouth to shout back a witty comeback and then shut it, partly because he couldn't think of anything to say that would sway the Spymaster, and partly because she was right. 

"'Can you teach me to be a bard?' Asked once, asked again a decade later, but only to her," Cole said, entirely out of context, and Dorian wondered for a moment if his was the only brain Noéla would have thrown out. 

Then he knelt down and picked up his book. No use dwelling on what could have been, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Not going to be updated regularly, but I have a few more stories that I can put here until I reach a still point.


End file.
